You twist my words as I twist my arms,
into the fetal position,
here I go,
trying to hide myself from the world that scares me.
I try to get up,
but the harder I try, the harder it is.
It's as though I am handcuffed into this position.

I am a prisoner to fate.

My name is engraved onto a tombstone where my body will be laid.

The memories of my life are being written down on crumpled pieces of paper.
I am those pieces of paper that
have been crumpled up and thrown to the side.
As someone tries to straighten me up they should notice I am too wrinkled to even try to fix.
I have tears and rips all along my body and I have tried to fix them my whole life, but to this day I can never be a piece of paper that a book report can be written on.
I am the pieces of paper with regret and sadness thrown into the fire of useless people.
I am the dreams that died along with my spirit.
I have tried so hard to start over and over again.
I want to rise from the ashes and renew myself.
And for once I feel I have been given the chance to revive.
I have put myself piece by piece together and there are some pieces still missing and being put into place and thats okay because life was not a jigsaw puzzle to be finished but a painting to be made.
this masterpiece will have darkness but it will also have light.
I believe that we are the painters of our life and we can make it as dark and sad as we want
or as happy and bright as we want.
I will try to paint as much bright and happy colors as I want,
but to make a beautiful masterpiece you have to have contrast so I will accept,
not happily, but willingly
those bad days and moments.